


To Rise Above

by Jb (sg1jb)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg1jb/pseuds/Jb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack, Daniel, and a misadventure in an airplane.<br/>Is being in control an achievable actuality, or an illusion? Or, maybe, is it a state of mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Rise Above

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place following Beast of Burden, plus contains references to The First Ones
> 
> Previously published online, May 2004

 

 

 

 

Be like the bird in flight . . .  
pausing a while on boughs too slight,  
feels them give way beneath her,  
yet sings knowing yet, that she has wings.  
— Victor Hugo

  
  
 It made no difference that the locked door Jack had stood in front of had just been opened for him, that he'd been allowed across the threshold and into the apartment. Even in here, in Daniel's kitchen, Jack was acutely aware that in all but the most superficial of ways he was still standing on the outside, as if he'd never even been ushered through the entrance.  
  
He tried for a relaxed smile, even bolstered it with a disarming shrug, but nevertheless found himself facing an implacable barrier, flat and grey and essentially devoid of honest welcome. Daniel stood there in front of him looking both uncomfortable and unreceptive, his hair tousled and his eyes puffy as he squinted at Jack. Clearly straight out of bed, Daniel was bare-footed and unshaven, wearing a ratty t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He stood there for a minute looking anywhere but right at Jack and finally cleared his throat, asking, "What can I do for you, Jack?"  
  
Ah, and that was the rub, wasn't it? Ask not what you can do for... uh, no, wait, that was wrong. Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair, deciding that if he couldn't even get a well-known quote right this morning, then perhaps going straight to honesty might be the best tactic. Much less to try to keep track of. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Actually, Daniel, I'm here to ask you the same question. Your cell phone and land-line are non-starters, so I figured I'd just come over to do it."  
  
What looked like irritation flicked across Daniel's face, and Jack was glad to see it, despite it being negative. He was glad to hear Daniel's voice, to see the mobile emotion no matter its nature; glad that if not metaphorically at least physically Daniel was opening doors to admit them. Five days, thus far, of mutually agreed-upon stand-down for Daniel. But more importantly, carried further than just the impromptu vacation Hammond had suggested, it had been five days of absolutely no contact from Daniel with the SGC, nor with his team. Daniel not returning phone calls was a rare enough event to be cause for concern at any time, never mind when things were tense. And Jack was concerned. He'd been concerned ever since the debriefing six days ago in which Daniel had tangled with General Hammond over Daniel's apparent role in what had been obliquely referred to as war-mongering for Chaka and the domesticated Unas. Concern hadn't translated into knowing what to do about it, though, and Daniel had sat there at the briefing table looking to his team for insight and some degree of support but had received only uneasy glances and silence in response. And when Daniel had chosen to push back at Hammond just that bit too hard, had gone just that bit too far, they'd all been concerned, but even so, well... here they were now, Daniel and him, standing here like this, weren't they?  
  
Whatever it was Jack's comment had sparked, irritation or whatever else, it wasn't there for long, though, and now Daniel looked and sounded more discouraged than anything as he finally responded to Jack. His face was impassive, his tone flat and voice quiet. "Did you stop to think maybe there was a reason for the lack of phone contact, Jack? No wait, don't answer that." Daniel turned away from him, walking around the high counter which divided the kitchen from the hallway. He waved a hand behind him at Jack as he went, continuing on toward the door which led to his bedroom. "Of course you did. That's why you're here. Look, I have to go out, and I'm not even showered or dressed yet. Stay, or go; up to you what you do." He disappeared through the door, and it closed behind him with a soft snick.  
  
Jack was left standing alone at the entrance to the kitchen, still locked out, thinking, gee, that went awfully well didn't it, and nosily wondering just where it was Daniel had to go this morning. It wasn't possible, surely, that he had a date to see someone... that the man had some sort of social life outside the SGC? Nah. Daniel was just as stuck on a single track as Jack and Sam and Teal'c were. Jack would know if that wasn't the case; Jack knew a lot about the goings-on in the daily lives of the members of his team, much more than they likely ever imagined, and he didn't know that about Daniel, so ergo the answer had to be no.  
  
Hey, and wasn't this just a case in point. Jack picked up what he'd just seen on the countertop next to Daniel's open wallet and his glasses, and read the information and date printed on it. He'd known about this, naturally, from day one. After all, they were all part of a top-secret project, and it would be naive of the big machine not to keep close tabs on its assets; Jack had been informed of Daniel's first visit to Meadow Lake shortly after he'd made it. From then on Jack had kept up with it, checking with base security as they periodically monitored Daniel's progress. He'd made it his business to keep track of Daniel, up to a point, anyway – up to the point where his feelings got the better of him. After the first four months of waiting, and as subtly as he could manage dropping fruitless hints that he was interested, he'd finally had to acknowledge that Daniel had no intention of telling him what he was up to... and he'd had to admit to himself that it hurt. For some reason Jack really didn't understand, Daniel obviously hadn't wanted his input, nor, Jack guessed, valued his help or approval. So, stung more deeply than he was comfortable with, he'd finally stopped checking up on how it was going. Told himself it wasn't any of his business after all.  
  
He was holding the outcome now, and seeing the date on it, a day some three months prior to now, provoked a renewed stab of confused hurt – all jumbled up with a sense of grudging pride, true, but still strong enough and all too recognisable as hurt that he felt like turning on his heel and walking out the door. But he'd come here with a purpose, and it didn't include wallowing in some sort of misguided, misplaced paternalistic disappointment, so he stayed put. He looked at the date again, and thought back to when he'd first been notified of Daniel's actions. A full year ago, plus a month. All of ten months, then, it had taken for Daniel to get this. Probably because of their erratic schedule, he figured, and frankly was amazed Daniel had hung in there, given the difficulties they all had faced over the last year.  
  
It didn't escape Jack that Daniel had first visited Meadow Lake right after 888, where Rothman had died and Daniel had been abducted by the Unas; now here they were a year later just having come back from yet another disastrous trip courtesy of Chaka. This time it hadn't been Daniel's body Chaka had messed with, though – it had been Daniel's moral compass, and it was pretty clear Daniel was having some trouble steering with that needle bouncing all over the damned place. Which was, of course, the real reason Hammond had "suggested" Daniel go home, and to stay there for a while, until he'd achieved some degree of realignment. That the general had been spitting angry at being mouthed off to was a side issue Jack knew Daniel was going to have to deal with when he went back to work. Implying Hammond was engaging in convenient hypocrisy hadn't been one of Daniel's better moves.  
  
Jack walked over, pulled a chair out from the dining room table, and sat down to wait for Daniel to come back out from the bedroom. He passed the time thinking about what he'd say to Daniel when he did reappear, absently fingering the license as he considered just how pesky competing morals and values could be. He only realised he was still holding it when Daniel came out and stood at the bottom of the steps into the dining room, looking at Jack disbelievingly, staring at what Jack held in his hand, the initial look of surprise on his face immediately giving way to affront, complete with jutting chin, narrowed eyes and all.  
  
Surprised at the intensity of Daniel's reaction, Jack found that despite his best intentions he simply couldn't help himself; he couldn't suppress his own feelings, nor head off the words that sprung to his lips. Wasn't even sure he really wanted to, because damn it, it did hurt – all the moreso because even now Daniel not only clearly didn't want to share this with him but also was pissed that Jack was aware of it. So, he waved Daniel's new private pilot's license in the air and heard the acid in his voice as he spoke before Daniel could. "So, congratulations, by the way. Way to go, hope it feels good, yadda yadda and all that crap."  
  
Daniel took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and looked away. He stayed that way, and after a moment Jack thought, oh damn. Damn it. This visit wasn't supposed to be just about himself, for himself. Way to go. He stood up, saying, "Oh, hell. Look, maybe we could start over," only to find himself simultaneously on the receiving end of much the same sentiment coming from Daniel's mouth, just with different words and minus the hell part.  
  
"I'm willing to admit I may have over-reacted here." Daniel repeated, shuffling in place, looking at the floor. Jack noticed Daniel's hair was still wet from the shower, and a drip was running down the side of his face toward his jaw. "I'm not, I mean, well... I don't know what I mean, exactly. I guess it's just that it was in my wallet, and so of course..."  
  
Whoa. Hold on. "I didn't go through your wallet, Daniel. It was sitting on the countertop in plain view, beside your wallet." Jack carefully put it down on the table, pushing it away from himself across the polished wood surface. This wasn't what he'd come here for, but now that both of them seemed to be worked up over this stupid thing – what ought to be an altogether, in the vast scheme of things, completely inconsequential non-issue – Jack wasn't too sure how to back up. Not to mention not having a clue as to how to banish the stung feelings resurrected by the sight of the license.  
  
Daniel frowned, stared at the table, then looked over to the counter where his wallet was. He scrunched up his face suddenly. "Oh. Uh, okay, then I definitely over-reacted." His embarrassment was genuine, but Jack didn't feel much mollified, even when Daniel added, "I was being an ass. Jack, I'm really sorry."  
  
Jack nodded at him but backed a few steps away from the table, thinking he ought to just leave and try doing the let's-put-it-all-behind-us thing with Daniel on another day. Of course, Daniel and him doing any sort of touchy feely talky stuff was pretty much an iffy sort of thing even at the best of times. They were really bad at it, really, really, really...  
  
"Oh. This – My God. Jack." He looked up to find Daniel all alit with serious wonder and enlightenment and amazement, staring at him like he was the embodiment of some religious revelation or something. The drip of water was now hovering on his jawline, though, spoiling the effect somewhat. God, the stupid things one notices at the most inappropriate times, Jack thought.  
  
Daniel kept his eyes on Jack as he walked up the steps to the table and tapped his finger on the license. "This hurts you."  
  
Well, whoopdedoo. Give the man a kewpie doll. "No, it doesn't. Why would it?" He denied it because he had to, because it was silly, and he was a big boy, and so was Daniel, and it really didn't matter anyway. It was trivial. There were other things in need of attention, between him and Daniel. Such as, well, just... lots of things. And besides, see how bad at this he was?  
  
"Yes it does. And I am such a fool, aren't I?" Daniel sat down at the table, picking up the card and turning it over in his fingers. "So just how long have you known I was doing this? Right from the start?"  
  
What? How did...? Oh. This was Daniel, keeper of the brainstorm repository. Take one plus one plus X, add an additional indefinite or two or three or ten, insert one brainstorm, and viola, X equals miraculous understanding. Jack shifted uncertainly, and then sat down opposite Daniel. "I knew you were going for lessons from the start, yes, but I chose to stop receiving reports over six months ago, Daniel."  
  
"Ah. I see." Daniel pursed his lips, then tilted his head and far too nonchalantly asked, "So, whose party toy am I? A private affair – just you? Or is this a company entertainment project?"  
  
"Hey, you know how it is with officialdom. Rampant paranoia. The truth is out there, and you gotta keep an eye on it so you can suppress it. Trust no one, and all that jazz."  
  
His own attempt at false levity felt all wrong to Jack, but Daniel smirked slightly at him. "Yeah. But you're not paranoid if they're really watching you. Right?" Daniel quickly passed from looking mildly amused to intently serious, though. "It's all right, Jack. That wasn't a fair question; I shouldn't have asked it. I know this is nothing new, and that it isn't just me under the microscope. And I know it isn't you setting up the specimen slides."  
  
Jack stayed silent, knowing from the expression on Daniel's face there was more coming and that he ought to shut up and wait for it. They sat there in silence, Daniel playing with the license and eventually shoving it into the breast pocket of his shirt, probably to save it from his restless fingers. It seemed like a long wait but was only several minutes, according to Jack's surreptitious glance at his watch, before Daniel spoke again. "I didn't tell you, or anyone else, because I wanted this to be something I did for me. And, something that I could feel free to decide to either continue with or not, completely on my own." He looked up at Jack. "You'd have had expectations. You did have expectations; that's exactly why you're hurt I never told you. And to be honest with you, I don't appreciate having the decision about when, or even whether, to share taken away from me. I guess that's why I reacted like I just did."  
  
Oh. Well. Jack nodded slowly. He supposed he could understand what Daniel was saying. Then Daniel's tone brightened, all too artificially, and Jack winced at the lame attempt at diversion. "Besides, I wanted to surprise you. And Sam and Teal'c, too. I wanted to get my instrument rating before saying anything; take you guys out into the middle of the vastest cloud cover up there, and show off my stuff – with the comfort of knowing you could bail me out if I screwed up, of course."  
  
Oh, of course. Yeah. Sure he did. Jack almost came right out and told Daniel that it damned sure wasn't the rest of SG-1 Daniel probably felt the need to prove himself – to "show my stuff" – to, but at the last moment thought better of it, instead deciding to defer to Daniel's need to lighten the tone. "Well, okay, consider me surprised. And pleased for you, too, Daniel. Really." And wow, having said it, Jack realised just how true it was. He was pleased. Very. But he had a question. "Do you like it? Are you glad you did it?" Oops. Two questions.  
  
"Thank you, Jack." Daniel ducked his head slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Do I like it? It's pretty low-tech compared to flying a mothership, but yes, I like it, and I'm glad I did it." He quickly jerked his head up again and glanced at his watch. "Agh. Jack, I'm sorry but I have to go. I'm going to be late." He jumped out of his seat and went over to the counter, collecting his wallet and glasses, glancing around the kitchen as he mumbled, "Where the hell are my keys?" Jack bit back an amused smile as he noticed the keys across from him, lying on the dining room table right next to where Daniel had just been sitting.  
  
He picked them up, held them high, jangled them noisily. Daniel turned, looking sheepish, and Jack got up and took the keys over, holding them out. But they weren't accepted right away. Instead of taking them from him, Daniel frowned and bit his lower lip, and then cautiously asked, "Ahm, are you heading to the mountain? Or, is today... do you have today off?" He didn't wait for Jack's answer, more words gushing out quickly as if their very existence depended upon Daniel getting them out into the open as soon as possible, and as Daniel spoke Jack realised that was probably true. "Because if you have the day off, maybe you'd like to come with me? I know it's last minute, but you're here; I mean, you came all the way over here, and I haven't left yet, and so..." The rush trailed off rather abruptly, and Daniel stopped.  
  
And, so...? But there wasn't any more. Daniel just stood there looking unaccountably worried, and it occurred to Jack maybe it wasn't so unaccountable after all; after five days of steadfast avoidance of contact on Daniel's part, maybe he had just opened the door a crack. Maybe he was afraid that after such a poor start, Jack wouldn't want to come inside? Jack quickly shoved his foot in the opening. "Sure. I have no plans for today," he lied, and felt in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. He'd have to call Teal'c and cancel, but that'd be okay.  
  
Daniel took the keys from him, and Jack asked him, as he followed Daniel to the door, "So, where are we going? Shopping? Bookstore? Better yet, dirty bookstore?"  
  
Daniel waited until they were both out in the hallway and the door was locked behind them, then shoved both hands deep into his pant's pockets. "Ah, actually, we're going to Albuquerque."  
  
What? Where? Oh, please. "Albuquerque?" Why the hell would... Oh. Oh! Jack couldn't hold back a surge of surprised enthusiasm, and found himself grinning widely. "We're going flying? To Albuquerque and back?"  
  
"Well, if you don't want to come, Jack, just say so."  
  
Jack considered asking if Daniel was sure, considering Daniel had only just implied he wasn't ready to share this, then hastily rejected it as a very bad idea. Instead, he gave Daniel a good-natured, healthy shove toward the elevator, and in his pleasure an equally healthy slap on the arm as they stepped inside and Daniel hit the button for the lobby. Daniel glared at him, but Jack knew he was pretending and didn't really mind. In fact, there was a muted sense of excitement radiating from Daniel as he stood quietly in the corner as they went down, but it wasn't until they were getting into Daniel's car that it spilled over into nervous activity, Daniel asking Jack not once but twice if he was sure he had time to do this – because after all it would take the full day – while checking that the license was in his pocket.  
  
During the drive to Meadow Lake Jack distracted Daniel from the uncharacteristic bout of self-conscious nerves, quietly asking innocuous questions about his training and showing genuine interest in the answers. Things like how many hours had he put in before his check ride – a whopping seventy-nine, due to both Daniel being carefully Daniel, and the inconsistency of his SGC schedule – and what did he fly – mostly Cessna, Jack, but a Piper too – and did you manage to fulfil your night flying requirement, Daniel – why, yes I did, Colonel Jack, Sir, Dad.  
  
Then they were there, and Jack loitered just inside the doorway of the office, first making his phone call to Teal'c and then eavesdropping as Daniel stood talking familiarly with the two guys behind the counter. Questions were asked and answered, flight plans completed, paperwork went from hand to hand, and Jack was reassured by their vigilance and thoroughness, and by the way an unspoken but standing offer of plenty of guidance underlaid their respectful treatment of Daniel. Satisfied this was a good place, he let his attention wander, gazing out the big front window, looking forward to going up on such a beautiful, warm, sunny summer's day, especially since it had been pretty much forever since he'd taken the time to do anything like this himself.  
  
"Jack." Daniel was standing at his shoulder, and he turned to face him. But it wasn't time to go; Daniel's hands were empty. "Have you ever flown over Mesa Verde?" Uh, what? Oh. No, no he hadn't. Amazing, but sadly true. He didn't even have to voice the answer. Daniel saw it on his face, and grinned widely at him just before whirling around and striding back to the counter, saying, "Dave, wait. I'd like to make a change."  
  
Jack followed him over, and the guy Daniel had referred to as Dave nodded politely at him. He hung back behind Daniel's shoulder just enough to be sure he wouldn't inadvertently lose sight of just whose trip this was, and be tempted to start taking over the preparations, and stood watching and listening as the right maps and papers and information got revised and passed back and forth. In the midst of it all, Dave looked up and double-checked, "So, you know the rental rate, Dr. Jackson. This'll add at least another two hours or so..."  
  
Daniel answered yes, but then turned to Jack, a bit of a frown appearing on his face. "I hope that's all right with you, Jack? It'll be about an eight hour day, all told, if I change this..."  
  
Jack sidled up and looked over Daniel's shoulder at the paperwork on the counter. Colorado Springs to Albuquerque, then up to Cortez, and from there the north-east flight back to the Springs. "Looks good to me, Daniel. But maybe I better pay for lunch."  
  
His eyes shining, Daniel waved his Visa card. "No problem. Have gold card, will travel." He gave the card to Dave, and after a bit more shuffling of paper, they were on their way through the back door of the office.  
  
Jack followed Daniel across to the plane, which was ready and waiting for them. It was a four-seater, the wings set up above a fuselage painted with bold red stripes which were repeated on the tail and wingtips, and had retractable landing gear, an option that Jack didn't think made much sense with such a small plane as this. An extravagance, and as a rule Jack didn't like senselessly extravagant things. But never mind that; even though he'd been in the Ferrari's of the flying world, not to mention a few pretty flashy extraterrestrial models, Jack suddenly found himself eager to climb inside this little Volkswagen. He watched carefully while Daniel did his exterior pre-flight check, doing his own assessment of both plane and pilot from a distance, pleased to see him doing a thorough job of it.  
  
When Daniel removed the chocks and was ready, they climbed aboard, Daniel in the pilot's seat on the left, and Jack on the right. It felt odd to Jack, sitting on the right. Unnatural. He took the headset from where it dangled off the arm of the yoke and put it in his lap, automatically starting a check of the instruments and controls, his shoulder pushing hard against Daniel's as he looked over to the left at the instrument panel. Full set of IFR instruments, GPS, dual nav/com, DME, ADF – ahh, whoops. Jack stopped, straightening up in his seat, when Daniel cleared his throat and gently asked him to please check that his door was properly latched and to fasten his seat belt.  
  
Noting how carefully Daniel avoided looking at him, Jack realised Daniel was nervous with him here. So he sat back and kept his hands to himself, doing as he was asked and nothing more, settling for mentally following along as Daniel did the rest of his pre-flight. Seat belts and doors, brakes, circuit breakers and fuel selector valves, yadda yadda. Daniel mumbled his way through the list, his right arm jostling Jack's left as he flicked switches in preparation for engine start up, and then set the mixture, opened the throttle, and did the deed. The engine coughed once and came alive, the prop swinging and then blurring into action, the indicator on the fuel pressure gauge jumping up. As Daniel adjusted the throttle and flicked on the avionics, Jack smiled to himself at the feel of it all: the vibration, the noise, the close quarters, the sight of the runway over to his left, the anticipation which rose in him even though this was only a day trip in what was really just a little piss-bucket – hardly comparable to shooting across the galaxy in technological marvels still relegated to the realm of science-fiction as far as most of Earth was concerned, but all the same, exciting as hell right at the moment.  
  
Out his window, he saw that Daniel was testing the flap and aileron controls. Bringing his attention back inside, looking around, he thought it was actually a heck of a nice little piss-bucket, as far as piss-buckets went. The nav/com radios and built-in intercom were digital, and the seats soft, worn-in leather. It seemed a bit silly to have headset mics and an intercom on a small plane where you were practically sitting in each other's laps, but hey, who was he to argue with bells and whistles aimed at convenience and comfort? Maybe extravagance wasn't such a bad thing after all. Wiggling his butt, settling in, Jack put on his headset, understanding just why Dave had thought it wise to remind Daniel of the rental cost for this particular aircraft.  
  
"Ready, Jack?" Daniel's voice jumped abruptly into his ear, and Jack started a bit, surprised, realising the mics were voice-activated. He turned, a joking, "shouldn't I be asking you that" on his lips, but Daniel was still studiously avoiding looking right at him, so he didn't risk a possible misunderstanding. "You bet. Ready to blow this joint whenever you are."  
  
Daniel nodded, and they were moving, rolling forward and then around, soon coming to a halt at the head of the runway. It was torture for Jack to just sit there with his hands in his lap and do nothing, simply to be a spectator, as Daniel rechecked the flight controls, set the instruments and trim, spoke into the radio, and brought the throttle up. In that moment, Jack suspected that if Charlie had lived to get his driver's learner's license, Jack would have been possibly the world's worst co-driver. And in the very next moment, as the throttle opened to full and the brakes released, Jack didn't only suspect it, but knew it for certain, with no 'possibly' about it. He had to all but bite his tongue to prevent himself barking out reminders about speed and lift to Daniel as they abruptly did a shake, rattle, and roll acceleration down the tarmac.  
  
Then they were up, climbing, moving into a banked left turn to head south. A guttural sigh strong enough to activate the mic came through from Daniel, and Jack nudged him ever so slightly with his shoulder. "Nice job, Daniel. So, when do they start serving, and what's the in-flight movie?" He figured he was on the right track with the attempt at reassurance when, for the first time since they had left the flight office, Daniel actually looked right at him. But the air of tension and self-consciousness which had gathered around Daniel since they had gotten into the plane was still there, and so Jack looked over Daniel's shoulder, out the left hand side window as the plane continued in its turn, and pointed. "Hey! What's that guy doing in my yard?!"  
  
Daniel laughed, Jack grinned at him, and they were fine. Flying together, no further along in dealing with things that needed to be dealt with but at least able to share this space with one another, sitting shoulder to shoulder in a not entirely, but getting there, comfortable silence as Daniel's nerves settled and Jack enjoyed the view. They passed over the San Juan mountains and into northern New Mexico, picking up the Rio Grande gorge. Jack took the controls for a bit, and they went down low, cruising along at 1,500 feet sightseeing the deep gash that divided the state into two, dodging areas where Jack suspected invisible gusts and rifts rising off the mountains below might lie in wait to ambush them. Then he gave it back to Daniel and they went back up, way way up into the deep blue sky, and Jack was thrilled when Daniel asked if he might be willing to run Daniel through some basic simulated instrument flight manoeuvres. With each little training exercise, in each tutored moment, their interaction became more natural, and as the beloved camaraderie made a reappearance Jack felt the door open wider. It occurred to him that his approach in coming over to Daniel's – his expectation they'd sit and uncomfortably, tortuously force themselves to be all right with each other – had been all wrong. Completely wrong.  
  
They descended toward Albuquerque, heading for the little outlying airport on Daniel's flight plans, just in time for Jack's stomach to remind him that it was about time he paid for lunch. He listened to the weather data coming in on the radio, and caught sight of the windsocks as they did a wide circle waiting for a few other planes to land before them. He figured he had best make it a damn good lunch for Daniel, because there was a hefty enough crosswind blowing to complicate things a bit, and Jack knew Daniel would once again be nervous about wanting to do it just right with him there watching. And hell, oh yeah, right it was, with Daniel competently compensating for the extra drag as he dropped the gear, using the minimum of flaps for the length of the field and just the right amount of rudder to keep it straight while holding the aileron control into the wind.  
  
It was great, really great, and as they touched down and the aircraft shook with braking, Jack let out a laugh. The flight would have been damn close to one hundred percent perfect, in fact, if not for the shakiness Jack suddenly noticed in Daniel's hands as they taxied off the runway. 

 

* * *

  
  
God. God, oh God, oh God. They were down. They were down in one piece, apparently Jack was happy, and Daniel hadn't futzed up, much. What a horrible flight. Dreadful. What a bad idea this had been.  
  
Even as he thought it, though, Daniel knew it was an exaggeration; as nervous as he'd been to have had Jack as his first and only passenger, Daniel had relaxed enough in spots to enjoy some of the trip. He'd liked it when Jack had taken control, and they'd flown lower than he could have, enjoying the beauty of the mountains below them. And while he'd been self-conscious, he'd enjoyed Jack's calm, clear explanations of instruments-only flying. Learning in of itself, learning anything, was a joy Daniel knew he could rely on, and it had not failed him here. However, overall he felt uncomfortable, vaguely disconcerted... probably partly because he'd even done this in the first place – had ventured into Jack and Sam and Teal'c's territory and for reasons he was all too clear on had kept it from them. And also maybe because he well knew why Jack had come to see him this morning.  
  
They left the plane to be refuelled, and he took Jack to the small cafeteria in the sole building this little airfield had to offer. He'd been here, had flown down here twice before, and was pleased to see they'd arrived in time to catch the tail end of the lunch offerings. They had big, fat, soft tacos spilling over with impressively tasty things Daniel didn't even try to identify, and equally big salads, and several cups each of fresh, rich coffee, and through it all he figuratively held his breath, suspecting he couldn't avoid for much longer what Jack wanted from him.  
  
No doubt Jack wanted to hear him say that he had gotten all turned around, that he had lost sight of his own morals and values. That his silence of the last five days meant he was floundering. Jack wanted him to admit to it so that Jack could supposedly help him. He could hear Jack's voice now, in his head, telling him how he knew Daniel was having a hard a time living with the role he played and the outcome of the mission, but that shit happens, and sometimes you just have to forget about it and move on. The problem with that was Daniel wasn't in the least bit interested in discussing the mission with anyone. Ever.  
  
He swallowed the last dregs of his coffee, and carefully placed the cup back onto the table. It was time to go. "Jack, we should..." he started, but looked up to find Jack staring hard at him. "What?"  
  
Jack leaned back in his seat, appearing to come to some sort of decision, and Daniel steeled himself for the pep talk. But that wasn't it. "I've enjoyed this, Daniel. Thanks for bringing me along."  
  
Uh, okay. Maybe. "You're welcome," he said cautiously, waiting for the rest of it.  
  
Jack's fingers tapped out a tattoo on the table. "Can't help but notice you aren't completely thrilled to have me here. Look, I told myself I wouldn't do this, but hey, you know me, no self restraint whatsoever..."  
  
In the pause that followed, Daniel thought that yeah, he did know Jack, and so he interrupted. "Jack, I'm sorry. It's not that I don't value your company, or your guidance." He looked straight at him, and Jack met his eyes. Daniel thought he looked confused and hurt, again, and so he did his best to explain it, again. "All right, so, I wanted this to be something I did for me, instead of getting all caught up with the expectations of other people, but it isn't just that, and it isn't that I don't trust you – I do trust you."  
  
"So, what, then?" Jack asked quietly.  
  
"So, so... Jack, when we came back from 888, I felt so helpless. It seemed like no matter what I got involved in or might try to do, I had no say at all in how things went. I guess I was looking for a new start in something, for something I could take on and have control over."  
  
Jack nodded, then pulled a face at him. "Flying, Daniel? You chose flying?"  
  
"Robert flew light aircraft, Jack. He loved it."  
  
Jack's mouth formed a silent ahh, and Daniel didn't feel any need nor desire to spell anything out any further. But then Jack said, gently, "Okay. I got it now. I admit, I still don't really know why you wanted to keep it to yourself, but you're entitled to your privacy, Daniel. So, well, I guess what I'm trying to say here is, I understand now, and I'm sorry for fussing over it."  
  
Looking away, down at his hands, Daniel softly clarified, "Most of all, Jack, I didn't tell you because I wanted the freedom to screw up, or maybe to give up if that's what I wanted, without worrying about how it might affect anyone else."  
  
Jack sat silently for a moment, then leaned forward. "Daniel, even if I might have had expectations, your choices would have been your own to make. And for Christ sake, you didn't screw up. Rothman's death was something you were completely powerless over. It wasn't your fault. It had nothing to do with you."  
  
"Jack, that's it exactly. It's not always a matter of fault, I know that. The point is, I was powerless, and Robert is dead. And I make choices, yes, but they aren't just mine to make irrespective of the effect of them on others." Like now, like with Chaka and the people he's no doubt killing right now, as I sit here, he wanted to add, but didn't. He didn't need to say it out loud; it was implicitly understood, and Jack had no answer to that. Neither of them did.  
  
They gathered up their lunch trays and left the cafeteria, and they went flying again, Daniel feeling better about having Jack there now... feeling not completely, but a bit more, like he had the control he did when he went alone. The crosswind had died down, and they took off to the west, Jack interestedly going over the charts and perusing the map where Daniel had marked off for him the sights they'd be flying over on their way to Mesa Verde and then Cortez, their next stop. West over to the El Malpais volcanic spatter cones, then around back east to the mountains, and over the Bandelier cliff ruins which they wouldn't be able to see all that well from the air, really. Northwest from there to pass over Chaco Canyon and the Chaco Historical National Park ruins, which looked spectacular from above, on the way to Farmington and beyond.  
  
Daniel knew the route, having flown it both before and since his check ride, but this was the first time he'd had someone in the right-hand seat other than a flight instructor, and unlike him Jack had no problem with taking the controls and descending to well under Daniel's preferred minimum of 3,000 feet for some quality sightseeing. They traded off the controls depending on what below might be worth taking a closer look at, faintly oohing and ahhing over El Mapais, and seeing not much worth the gas over Bandelier, in Jack's opinion – sadly enough, Daniel had to agree with him. Now Jack was taking them over the western portion of the Jemez mountains, at barely 2,00 feet... and slowly but alarmingly, very scarily, descending even further. Jack nudged Daniel with his shoulder, and with an amused lilt in his voice asked if Daniel would like to have it back.  
  
Ahh, no. "A bit beyond my level of experience, Jack," Daniel muttered uneasily as they continued to drop. "You, uhh, you just..." Whoa, 1,100 feet. A strong gust of wind coming up off the mountains shook the plane. He had to clear his throat. "You just carry..." Ack! They dropped to just below 1,000 feet above ground level. "Or, not! Jack!"  
  
"What? You said to carry on." Jack was all innocence personified, well feigned even through the headset. Daniel wanted to reach out and slap him. Then Jack regained his sense of sanity and responsibility – either that, or he took pity on Daniel – and brought the nose up, and they climbed. The bastard.  
  
Daniel took over, marginally reassured by their increasing altitude, and he immediately climbed higher, establishing a wide left turn to bring them around in line for a straight fly-over of the Chaco Canyon ruins. Jack closed his eyes, settling back with a faint smile on his face, but Daniel knew he was just having him on; the last thing Jack would do here was to have a nap. He was climbing still, cruising easily into the turn, when something caught his eye suddenly, his heart leaping to his throat as a dark shape he just caught sight of in the left side of the windshield came hurtling toward him and then, in an instant, went flashing toward the upper left corner. It went up, still coming, and oh God, was it going to hit the underside of the wing? In the same heartbeat as he'd seen it, Daniel both pulled back on the yoke and brought it around to the right, the left wing rising abruptly as he climbed and rolled, rolled over to the right, oh, not so much, you're going to go too far, too far, Daniel realised, as Jack swore out loud beside him. He found his feet on the rudder pedals were doing their own thing, slewing the nose around as he carefully backed off. There was a slight lurch, and Jack had just grabbed his yoke himself so they both felt the shudder that came through it into their hands as Daniel worked to avoid the mistake he'd almost made.  
  
Daniel's heart banged against his chest, his hands and knees shaking, as the correction settled them into a controlled, relatively wide, banked right turn. Jack lifted his hands to let them hover protectively just over the yoke on his side, and they stared at each other as Jack raised an eyebrow at him, and then finally asked, "Okay, so what was that?"  
  
Daniel gestured with one hand toward the left wing. "I saw... I thought I saw..." He peered out his window, but couldn't see any apparent evidence of anything having impacted the underside of the wing. "Oh. I don't... I thought I saw something. I was sure."  
  
"Okay." Jack leaned forward, concerned, and looked out Daniel's side window. "What was it?"  
  
"I don't really know. Just a dark shape of some kind." A bird, maybe, he thought? They had been low enough, and there were birds of prey in this area. Eagles, and also scavengers. And it was mid-summer, when younger birds would be out testing their wings.  
  
"All right, well, no harm done. Good correction, Daniel." Jack settled back again. "Although, I gotta point out, all there is over there now is a left wing. And it's raised, so doesn't that mean we're heading around to go the wrong way now?"  
  
Ah, yes. They were. That's dumb. Daniel inhaled deeply, trying to banish the rest of the shakes, moving to level the plane out so he could take it back to the west. He turned the yoke to the left to straighten out of the turn. Ahh...? Sort of. What the hell...? The plane remained tilted to the right.  
  
"Daniel." Jack was looking out his side window at the lowered right wing. "Are you tired of me or something? Because we're still rolled over here."  
  
Shit. "Yes, Jack, I know that." Daniel's breath caught as he realised he wasn't able to take the aileron control back to a neutral position. He looked out his window at the engaged left aileron on the wing, and carefully moved the yoke to the right. The aileron moved down further readily enough, and the plane responded by rolling right just as it should, but when he moved it back again the control sludged up and then seized before the aileron came back into position with the wing.  
  
Ahh...oh, wow. Breathe, Daniel, breathe. Oh geez. Straight and level flight was a no-go. Oh, wow.  
  
Fingers closed over his own, and he realised his hands were shaking again. "Jack, I have a problem here," he said, and Jack squeezed his hand gently.  
  
"I know, Daniel. It's all right. Turn it over to me, okay?"  
  
Okay? Damn right it was okay. Daniel checked to see Jack was ready to take it, and on Jack's word he lifted his hands and feet off the controls. He bit his lip and watched the aileron out his window, feeling the plane roll and slide and yaw and pitch, as Jack tested the controls. Wind buffeted them, and Jack swore again, using rudder to help hold them in as shallow a turn as the uncooperative aileron control would allow, and asked him, "Can you see anything, Daniel? Anything that might account for this?"  
  
Daniel looked, looked hard, squinting as he slid his gaze along the aileron and then along the underside of the wing, wondering if there was a dimple midway along the aileron flap or if it was his imagination, but he couldn't really tell which for sure. So he told Jack just that – that he wasn't sure – and closed his eyes for a moment in chagrin, castigating himself because he'd messed up after all. So much for the freedom to fuck up without affecting anyone else.  
  
The plane suddenly shuddered, lifting, and even though Daniel recognised it and knew what it was, his eyes snapped open. He watched out his window as Jack returned the flaps to neutral, then applied and reversed them again, and then checked the aileron control only to find nothing had changed. He repeated the whole series again, obviously hoping that whatever was interfering might right itself in the process, and Daniel's heart sank as the outcome remained unchanged. The aileron stubbornly stopped moving when applied at what looked to be about fifteen to twenty degrees, and Daniel knew that was far too much.  
  
"Okay. So, we can sit here and fly in right hand circles, or I can compensate somewhat with rudder and try to actually get us somewhere. But there's the unpredictability of updrafts from these mountains to consider, and it's all going to add up to stress on the controls. So tell me where we can go, Daniel. Somewhere east, and close by."  
  
Somewhere east. East. "Back to Albuquerque is south-east. It's too far?" Daniel asked, not in the least bit hopeful, mentioning it only because he knew the terrain and the airport there, and as he expected Jack didn't even bother answering. Ohh, wait. Shit. Airport. Landing. How could they land like this, with a permanent roll to the right? Daniel's gut iced over. "Jack, do we need a fully serviced airport? What are we going to need when we get down?"  
  
Jack clearly understood what he was asking, but just grinned at him as he answered, "Well, I'm gonna need a bathroom and a beer, in that order. I don't know about you." Daniel just looked at him, the ice creeping upward, and Jack sobered. "It's a high wing aircraft; that's on our side. I can apply rudder to try to hold it as straight as possible. It won't be a clean landing, but I'll do my best to make sure we walk away intact, Daniel."  
  
Okay. But where to go? "All right, well, if we have to go east then Santa Fe might be the best bet. It's almost due east, just a bit to the north. But it's not just one step around the corner. What are we talking about, distance and time-wise, Jack? Just how close do you need close to be?"  
  
The plane suddenly sank and sheared right, and Jack yelled out, "Shit!" as he fought to compensate for effect of the sudden powerful updraft from below upon the banked attitude of the plane. Daniel looked down, and then up at the moving map GPS display. They were coming up on the north-western border of the mountains. So, the desert plain of the Chaco region lie a few minutes to the west, just beyond the rim they were skirting, and directly to the east was Santa Fe. But they'd have to fly back over the mountains to get to Santa Fe. Another gust caught them, and Jack was obviously thinking the same thing as Daniel, because he tapped a finger on the display, and asked, "Just beyond the north-west rim... what's the closest centre that might have some sort of airport?"  
  
Daniel shook out the map, but he knew the answer without looking at it. North-west, it was the small town of Cuba, which might possibly have some sort of rudimentary airfield for light aircraft, but that was quite a distance away. Much closer was Los Alamos, just to the north-east of their current position. He showed Jack, noting, "It's the closest, but we have to go north-east across the mountains. We get out of the mountains a lot quicker by just popping over the north-west ridge right here, but we'd have to go north-west a fair ways to get to the nearest town." He gnawed on his lower lip, unnecessary adding, "We don't turn west so good."  
  
"We don't turn west at all, Daniel." Another gust sent the plane into a mild shimmy. Jack grimaced and looked up at the clear blue of the sky. "Heat of the day. Wonderful." He sat silent for a moment, and then abruptly reached forward and keyed the radio to 121.5, saying to Daniel, "Better check your seatbelt, Buddy."  
  
Daniel froze for a second at seeing Jack set the radio to the emergency call frequency Jack applied more rudder and wrestled the yoke as far to the left as it would go, and it was a done deal. Oh, shit. Trust Jack, trust Jack, his mind chanted at him as he reached for the transponder to set code to 7700. Jack glanced over at him, nodded approvingly, and said, "We're better off over flat ground than the mountains, and better down than up, Daniel. It'll be okay. I can land this." Daniel appreciated the note of confidence in Jack's voice, and made the emergency radio call feeling marginally better about the whole thing. Marginally.  
  
The inconsistent winds coming up off the mountain ridge as they passed over it made handling more difficult for Jack, and Daniel stayed still and quiet until they were pushed out and over the foothills by a gusty tailwind. "There," he pointed. "If we can hold it to about eleven o'clock for a bit, I think it flattens out in about fifteen miles or so in that direction."  
  
"You think?" Jack cast him a sideways glance.  
  
"Uhh," Daniel rechecked the topographics, and searched his memory to be sure. "No, no, okay, I know. I know it does."  
  
Jack complained, "So, about ten minutes. Crap, my arms are getting sore."  
  
Daniel tentatively placed his hands on the yoke, and Jack nodded, so they changed off, but Jack kept his hands lightly in place and continued to manage the rudder, which pleased Daniel to no end because he really didn't want that responsibility. The yoke was tight and hard to hold left, always wanting to go back to the right. He held it as steady as he could, watching the attitude indicators as the minutes passed and the ground below slowly evened out into a scrubby, undulating plain criss-crossed with narrow dirt tracks.  
  
He had a bit more trouble as the minutes ticked by, the yoke tending to jerk right with every bounce on the wind, and as it shimmied in his hands Daniel wondered if maybe amidst the continuing irregular gusts there might be a steady crosswind from the left buoying up that wing even further than the stuck aileron wanted to. He groaned, but then did a double take, realising that the same wind from the opposite direction might help lift the dragging right wing. Excited, turned to Jack. "Jack! I can feel some extra lift under the wing... can we –"  
  
He stopped, because Jack was grinning widely, pretty much laughing at him, actually. "It might be helpful, yes, Daniel, if it exists. But by the time we get to somewhere I can put it down, what you're feeling, which is just an illusion anyway, may not even be there any more."  
  
Daniel frowned, staring at Jack, offended by the convoluted contradictoriness of the dismissal. "So, that's justification for having a laugh at my expense? I'm just trying to help."  
  
Jack shook out his arms. "Oh, you're helping a lot." Daniel didn't even bother trying to think up a response to that, and just flew on, making an adjustment to turn slightly more to the right when Jack asked him to. A few minutes later, Jack abruptly took back the controls, his manner suddenly all business, his tone crisp. "There. Up ahead. The dirt road at two o'clock. Prepare for a forced landing, Daniel. Read out your checklist."  
  
Daniel couldn't take his eyes off the narrow track that Jack had too generously referred to as a road, as they flew over and well beyond it and Jack started a wide right turn back. It was relatively straight, and looked to be a slight uphill grade which was good, but crap, land on that? There were rocks, and readily visible depressions, and piles of wind-blown dirt, and... and... oh! Oh, look! He started to stammer out, Jack, look, look at the scrub-brush, but Jack nudged him with his elbow, saying, "I know, Daniel, I see it. Thank you for helping; very helpful."  
  
Daniel realised they already were going around not in a half but a full circle, to take best advantage of the direction of the wind that tugged at the scrub, and felt slightly foolish. Of course Jack would be a step ahead of him all the way, here. Oh, wait, make that multiple steps ahead; the crosswind came from the north-east – the exact opposite of what he had thought before; no wonder Jack had laughed at him – and it just happened to blow across the gentle uphill grade of the terrain from an angle that might help lift the low wing, while still enabling them to land on the upslope to help slow them down.  
  
Right, okay. Be completely redundantly helpful, then. Daniel grabbed for the card hanging from his door, finding the emergency landing protocols and starting through them aloud even though he knew Jack had only asked him to do that in order to keep him occupied. Really big help, he was. Fuel selector on, set mixture to rich. Check the damned seatbelt. He read out the recommended throttle, airspeed, and flap settings for the plane to Jack even though he knew it wasn't necessary, and as Jack descended he silently added an additional item to the list: legs crossed; check and checkmate.  
  
He popped his door latch, reminding Jack to do the same. They were well into the approach and Jack was just setting the flaps when Daniel realised there was something missing. "Jack, gear?"  
  
He reached to do it, but Jack told him, his voice tight, "No. No gear. Leave it up."  
  
Okay, sure. No gear. Belly landing; why not? Oh God. Daniel wished there was room to actually cross his legs, watching the ground come closer and closer. The plane shook with the added drag from the flaps. Canted down to the right at an unfortunately all too respectable angle, Daniel held onto both his seat and his breath as Jack held the nose up and committed them the final distance. He felt a surge of panic well up inside him as the plane, without the landing gear down, sank lower than he was used to. He pushed the fear away, and yelled to Jack, forgetting they were on an intercom system, "What can I do?"  
  
Jack answered him in a rush, "Master off, when I tell you. Not before," and then they sank even further. Just before the back right hand side of the fuselage touched down Jack hollered at him to do it, do it now. He flicked the master switch off, and the fuel pump and engine too just for good measure, then all he could do as they slid forward was to hang on and hope for the best, the feel and sound of it horrendous. The nose stayed up just long enough to let them slide forward onto the mid-point of the fuselage, and then banged down onto the sloping dirt track, the fading propeller gouging into the ground, throwing rocks and clods of dirt up onto the windshield and bringing the front end sharply further down with another grinding thump.  
  
The impact jolted Daniel forward, and he rebounded into the side of his door, bashing the side of his head and his left shoulder. Through the almost overwhelming pain shooting through his left temple, he was vaguely aware of the plane ploughing a short furrow before the right wingtip hit, and then as they roughly pivoted around it the force of the sudden change in direction once again threw him into his door, which unfortunately for his arm was staying shut. His elbow joined in with the screaming pain in his head, and for a time it was all he could do to breathe through it and desperately try to not puke all over himself. He closed his eyes against the spin cycle, only realising when it didn't stop that it wasn't the plane that was doing the spinning now. Resting his head against the window beside him, he fumbled to find and hang on to the yoke in front of him with his right hand, his seatbelt digging in as gravity tried to haul him off his seat to the right due to the angle at which they'd come to rest. He kept his eyes closed and coached himself through some deep breathing. Even, slow, keep it slow, in through the nose, out through the mouth. And again. It's okay. Don't throw up. It doesn't hurt – much. Everything is okay. Just breathe.  
  
Something smacked him lightly on the shoulder, and he heard a muffled noise. Then the smack was repeated, but it was much harder, and he risked opening his eyes. Jack was swatting at him, and he was... oh! Daniel reached up and took off his headset, and the noise he was hearing resolved into Jack's voice asking him if he was all right. Everything looped and spun worse as he turned his head to look at Jack, and he swallowed bile, managing a slight nod and a faint, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."  
  
Jack wasn't going to let him leave it at that, though, continuing to shake his shoulder. "Daniel! C'mon, suck it up, big guy. Let's go..." Daniel picked a spot and stared at it, making a concerted effort to pay attention to Jack's voice while avoiding any excess movement, and as Jack continued to encourage him the vertigo started to settle somewhat. But damn, did his head and elbow ever hurt.  
  
"Better? Good. Daniel, I need you with me here. I need your help."  
  
What? That brought him to as full alert as was possible, and he turned his head to look right at Jack, grateful when there was only a mild spurt of dizziness rather than full out torture. "Jack?" He looked okay, sitting there, still belted in. Alert. Didn't seem to be in a lot of pain or anything, as far as Daniel could tell. No blood that he could see... . Jack's face twisted into a wry expression, and he inclined his head, indicating that Daniel should look down, at – Oh. Oh, perfect. Jack's door was partway open, jammed up against something outside of the plane, and the right lower side of the door and part of the fuselage in front of it pushed inward and crumpled. "You're trapped there?" Daniel asked, blown away by it all, by this whole freakish disaster, and then thought to add, "Are you hurt? Can you move?"  
  
"No, I'm okay. And not really trapped. I just can't..." Jack squirmed in his seat and pulled at his right leg. "My foot is stuck between the damned pedals, Daniel. I can't get it out unless I get up and twist around, and I can't do that while you're still in your seat." He peered at Daniel. "Is it just your head, or are you hurt elsewhere? Can you get your door open? Get out?"  
  
Daniel blinked away a spurt of pain as he twisted in his seat to take a look at his door. Unlatched, it was still secure enough that he had to brace his feet and apply his shoulder to it to see if he could get it open. Ow. Oww. Okay, so other than his head and elbow, that'd be a yes to Jack's first question. Bruised shoulder. Never mind. The door had moved with the shove, so he told Jack, "Yeah. I can push it open and crawl out. Just don't let me step on you." Then he undid his seatbelt and pushed with his feet to keep from sliding to the right, pushing the door open with difficulty and then pulling and kicking his way out. The plane sat listed over at something under twenty degrees, he figured, so not too bad, and he was easily able to control his crawl out so as not to end up in a heap on the ground. He turned to reach up to help, but found Jack had already freed his foot and was well on his way out.  
  
Jack's disembarkation wasn't nearly so tidy, though, and Daniel found himself sinking to the ground with an armful of heavy colonel, realising that Jack had lied when he felt blood smear onto his hand and heard the gasp as they went down in a tangle. Fortunately, it was just Jack's ankle – well squished and slightly lacerated, already starting to bruise and swell even as Daniel, ignoring Jack's hands trying to push him away, pulled at his pantleg to take a good look. There was little to be done with it, though, so he helped Jack to limp painfully up the slope away from the plane, over to a small hillock, where they both sank into the dirt and lay flat out on their backs, side by side. God. Oh, thank God.  
  
After a few moments of heavy breathing and intermittent soft groans on the part of them both, Daniel couldn't help but quip, "I thought you said you'd fix it so we walked away."  
  
"Hey!" Jack swatted at him. "We walked. And I think you're conveniently forgetting about the 'intact' part. We're intact."  
  
"I walked, you hobbled." Daniel sat up, closing his eyes for a moment to let a resurgence of dizziness settle. Damn, but he had a killer headache. "As for intact... Jesus. It's a good thing the crash didn't kill me, because Dave's going to want that pleasure for himself."  
  
He opened his eyes, and took a look at the plane. It was well and truly smooshed, with the propeller blades obviously irretrievably bent, their housing all but gone with the nose pretty thoroughly crumpled, and the condition of the length of the fuselage was too painful to think about. The distal third of the right wing lie crumpled against the edge of a depression in the ground, and there was a spreading circle of dark dirt under it. Gas, leaking from the wing tank. Daniel's heart leaped in his chest, and then he remembered that everything had been shut down. Even so, he wondered it they ought to move further away.  
  
Instead of moving away, though, he was drawn to it, and found himself getting up and walking over to stand by the left wing. His sore left arm pressed to his side, he reached with his right and ran his hand along the trailing edge of the still lowered aileron. On quick inspection, there was nothing there, and the upper surface of it looked fine as well. His chest felt tight as he looked at the seemingly faultless aileron and thought, what a mess. Suddenly, Daniel felt a wash of defeat surge through him. What a complete, utter screw-up this day was.  
  
"Relax, Daniel. It's all right. No real harm done."  
  
He turned to find Jack was standing next to him, and Daniel looked at him, dumbfounded. "What? No harm done? What are you, joking or something?"  
  
"It's just a plane. A thing. Replaceable." Jack limped forward a step, and repeated what Daniel had done, running his hand along the aileron's leading edge, and Daniel really wanted to believe him as he watched him inspect the rest of the aileron. But he didn't. Couldn't. He was distracted from his gloom when a few moments later Jack suddenly turned to him, and was actually smiling. "Here, Daniel, come here. Check this out."  
  
He went, and Jack showed him where, on the underside, there was a small dimple mid-way along on the trailing edge of the aileron, and a slightly larger dent adjacent to it, just at the edge of the wing right where it articulated with the aileron flap. It was slight, but even Daniel could see the bulging warp in the metal to either side of it. Relief and a renewal of jangled nerves mingled together to make his knees go rubbery as Daniel realised that something had in fact struck the wing; he hadn't imagined that there was something hurtling toward them. It wasn't his fault after all. It had been out of his co–  
  
Oh, oh hell. Story of his life. Not again!  
  
Jack was shaking his head, restrained amusement in his voice as he chided, "Holy crap, Daniel. Only you. I've been flying for half my life, flown everything from gliders to the F-117 to damned spaceships, for crying out loud. Got thousands of hours of air time, and I never saw anything like this happen until today. Until you. The laws of probability just don't apply to you, do they?" The restraint all but disappeared, and Jack barely contained himself as he added, "Man, oh man. Whatever we hit, I bet it was female."  
  
What? Daniel stared at him, open-mouthed. What was that supposed to mean? No, wait, never mind that. Focus on the important part... Jack thought this was funny? It was hard to breathe, and Daniel had to ration air as he forced out, "Gee, Jack, if there's anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to call." He turned away, taking the first step to stumble away from there.  
  
"Daniel? Wait..." Jack grabbed for him, and caught him around his left elbow.  
  
Daniel hissed with the pain, wrenching his arm out of Jack's grasp, and whirled around. "What, Jack? I'm supposed to be pleased you think my life is one big joke? Hey, that's why you came over this morning in the first place, isn't it. To set me straight, right? Because you think I'm so messed up? Well you know what? It isn't necessary. I don't need you to –"  
  
"Daniel! Stop!" Jack took him by the shoulders, and shook him lightly. "Just stop, okay?"  
  
Daniel took a deep breath, feeling slightly nauseated again, his head pounding. Jack was right. Stop. Shut up. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, thinking how ironic it was that one of his most valuable assets was just as often as not one of his worst. Jack's fingers tightened on his shoulders. "I didn't come over this morning to lecture to you, Daniel. I came over because we were worried, all of us, when we couldn't get hold of you. And because I missed you, Daniel. It's been a long, boring five days."  
  
Yeah, sure. Of course it has. That sounds right. Like hell. Daniel pulled away, turned away.  
  
"Daniel, I don't know what the right thing to do was, but I think you did the only thing you could do."  
  
Daniel frowned, uncertain as to what Jack meant, and turned back around as Jack continued. "I know I didn't say so during the briefing. I left you hanging out to dry with Hammond. But, even if I wasn't sure of it at the time, I am now. I thought about it, and I agree with you. It was their choice, Chaka and the Unas, not yours, and you had to respect it."  
  
Oh, that. He so didn't want to talk about that. He knew he wasn't the primary author of the loss of life that was sure to be occurring right now back there, but that wasn't really the issue. Like he'd said before, it wasn't about fault, was it? He had given up on finding another way, a workable solution, while being tortured back in that barn. So, what it was all about was a lack of control, and if he wasn't convinced of his own inherent powerlessness, even after that, well, maybe he sure as hell ought to be after today. Shouldn't he?  
  
He as much as asked, despondently telling Jack, "You know what? I don't know that there's much point in even talking about it, actually." He suddenly found himself pulled forward, right into Jack. Arms wrapped around his shoulders as Jack's voice sounded close to his ear. "Oh, Daniel. Jesus, for a genius, you can be such a moron, you know that? Listen to me here, because I'm only going to make a fool of myself once. You got that? This is your once in a lifetime chance to see me turn totally suck-o, so make it worth something."  
  
Then Jack pushed him away, and held him at arm's length. "You said you wanted something you could be in control of. Well, maybe control isn't a black or white thing. Maybe it's not an absolute, like a yes or a no. Maybe the opportunity to actually exert power over what happens is there, or maybe it isn't, but you do the best with what you have along the way. If you think you have some control, then for that time maybe you do, and in the end, if you can live with the outcome then maybe that means you're taking control, too. Just like you did with Rothman's death."  
  
Or, not. Daniel looked over at the smashed plane. "Oh, yeah, I can see that."  
  
Jack got impatient with him. "Oh, give it a rest. Shit happens, yeah, but it's your choice if you just stand there in it or if you try to clean it up. What you do with what you have is up to you. Come on, you're way smarter than me – you already know all this stuff."  
  
He waved a hand toward the plane. "Equating that mission and this accident with some sort of personal failure is just plain whacko, Daniel. You've never given up before this. Are you going to start now? Your choice. You can gird your cahoonies and scare the horses, stand up to Dave and the insurance company and take control over what happens next, or you can go quietly and let them lock you up on a barn and zap you with a million volts."  
  
What? Oh. Cojones. Daniel left that one alone but couldn't help but point out, "Ah, they aren't exactly the equivalent of evil slavers, Jack."  
  
"Oh yes they are. Boy, are you in for an education."  
  
They both looked up as a low droning became apparent, and off in the distance Daniel saw the source, a small jet approaching quickly from the east. They stood there and watched, and as it flew overhead Jack gave it a two-armed wave, and the pilot circled and waggled his wings at them before streaking off in the direction it had come from. Daniel shaded his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun as he watched it go, his heart lifting as he thought, hey, Robert, I know how to waggle wings, too, now... and suddenly he knew just how right Jack was.  
  
Jack grunted as the plane completely disappeared from view. "Our ride will be here before you know it, Daniel. So, what's it going to be? Big girded cahooneys, or are you going to let life slowly bleed you dry?"  
  
Daniel ducked his head in a lame attempt to hide his grin. "Well, it depends. Just how big are these 'cahooneys', Jack?" Although, he'd never had any complaints as it was – err, not that size mattered, of course.  
  
Jack spread his hands way, way apart. "Oh, big. Really big. You need 'em real big when you got to deal with the Federal Aviation Administration."  
  
"The FAA?" Daniel squeaked.  
  
Okay. That was it. Of course it mattered. He'd take the cojones.

 

* * *

  
  



End file.
